lilac;

It had hit you so suddenly that you could hardly process it; so bright and blinding that the intensity made you feel almost irritated. That’s probably how you knew you were back again, because annoyance was a side effect of existing, and though you had little desire to chase life again, an unseen force pushed you towards the light. Eventually, you found yourself reaching out to grab onto something solid again, finding that this time there was something to hold onto. Fabric?

When the light cleared, you realised you were holding onto someone, not just something.

You stared with your mouth agape, unable to produce any words at all, only to stumble back out of embarrassment. You started to speak, an apology forming at your lips, but just as quickly, your hands moved to silence yourself. That was not how you remembered sounding, but then again, everything else about you felt wrong to some degree. Somehow, the way you breathed felt different, and when your hands fell into your line of sight, you flinched, not recognising them at all.

The person before you had painted a strange image, too, though, seeming awfully familiar.

In an attempt to ground yourself, you tried to get a good look at them. Were they cosplaying a character, maybe? It certainly seemed to be someone you recognised, at the very least.

An even more humiliating thought surfaced, and you wondered if you had experienced a heat stroke at a convention or something similar. Were you clinging to a stranger? No, you couldn’t have been. You were dying, weren’t you? So this wasn't that, but the person before you was still dressed as someone you knew. Geto, maybe, from the looks of it? Or, wait, no. Of course not. The stitches on his forehead made it all rather obvious; this was Kenjaku.

You hovered around, wanting to look at him for a bit longer, but for whatever reason, whoever this person was, legitimately gave you the creeps. The scarring on his forehead looked much too real. It could have just been convincing prosthetic makeup, but there was something else to it. The robes might have been the second hint, looking far from cheap, but it was also the way the hair sat, being close to what you imagined Kenjaku being like: long, dark strands that once had a shine, that had ended up dull under his negligence.

“Sorry,” you found yourself blurting out, taking a shaky step back, still feeling thrown off by the sound of your own voice. You struggled to speak again for a second before pushing through the wrongness. “Did… Did I bump into you? My bad.”

The man before you gave you a small, quiet scoff, but then his lips smoothed over into a smile. “Bump into me?” he repeated, his voice a perfect fit. “Oh my, you did so much more than that,” he corrected you, genuine intrigue entering his tone. “You materialised out of thin air.”

You swallowed hard at his admission, not understanding why his response bothered you so greatly. Your eyelids fluttered, fixating on the ground rather than making eye contact with him, and you felt nauseous when you tried to do so. You had no idea what he meant, and yet, at the same time, you understood the gist of what he was talking about perfectly well. It felt exactly as he had described: that you just popped into existence in a place you shouldn’t be, in a body that wasn’t yours.

“...Materialised?” you finally managed.

An amused hum left him. “Oh yes, out of thin air at that,” he confirmed, his voice all smooth and calm, sounding almost conversational. He regarded you for a second longer, noting the vacant look on your face and then a thought entered his mind. “Do you even have any idea of where you are? Let alone who you are?”

You found yourself freezing at the way he worded his questions, because of course you knew you were. You were—you were—wait. Wait. You were someone before all of this, weren’t you? Even if those memories now felt awfully distant, you were still at some point in time someone. You even remembered dying, thinking about the most mundane things as you did so. Something about not being able to watch the next season of that thing you liked. Something about forgetting to take your bedding off for laundry. Something about, whatever, really. You didn’t really think about regrets or accomplishments or anything else of the sort, just random tidbits of what made up your recent existence.

Perhaps that’s all this was, then. Maybe the man before you wasn’t dressed up in that sense, but this was the imagining of someone you liked from a fictional world as your mind’s attempt to help you through those last moments. You read something like that before, didn’t you? Something about those before-death dreams felt oddly real to help your body close up shop.

You might have still been dying, then.

Somehow, the thought didn’t terrify you as much as it should have.

Even if you were… still… drowning(?)

Then, at last, you finally managed to look up and make eye contact with him properly that time, finding that yes, this was exactly who your mind had conjured up. Kenjaku. An odd choice for some, but you always did find his character strangely comforting. Villains like him couldn’t have been real in your world, so you could enjoy the way his character was written from the safe distance of reality. Though if you had to admit, the way you had imagined him was surely unsettling. You almost did it too well.

“I’m… actually not too sure who I am right now,” you started, hoping that speaking to what you thought was your imagination might prompt it to give you hints.

“Not too sure?” he repeated. “What an unusual answer,” he added with a light laugh.

You frowned at the lack of insight, still blaming your mind. “Well, yes, I don’t know what’s going on.”

Kenjaku pursed his lips in deep thought, his head tilting slowly as he studied you with open interest. “Understandable,” he supposed, offering you a light shrug. You did seem confused, yes, but the way you kept on looking at him was something that got under his skin in a way that he could not properly identify. People recognising the vessel he occupied—Geto—was more common, but the way you looked at him went deeper than just mere recognition.

He found himself taking a step closer, suddenly overcome with the urge to investigate that hunch.

“But, it’s quite odd, really,” he mused, lifting a thumb under your chin, forcing you to meet with his gaze, “you seem to know me, don’t you?”

“Well… you’re obviously Geto, right?” you replied, trying to shake your head away from his reach and failing to do so. “Or maybe… Kenjaku? I mean, you have the stitches, so that makes more sense. I even thought you were cosplaying him at first before I realised this must be some sort of weird dream my mind is conjuring up before I die,” you concluded with an awkward laugh. Maybe if you brought it up out loud, then your mind would follow the way you kept on wanting it to.

Kenjaku, however, simply blinked at your words. The smile on his face faded into something far more focused and far less casual than before. “Cosplaying?” he caught. “You believe that I’m dressed up as someone? Like a character?” he asked, his fingers snapping in delight from the moment the observation settled in. “How interesting!” he beamed. “And you believe me to be fictional, yes?” he found himself asking, not discounting the possibility that you truly believed what you were talking about. He was open-minded after all, and after a momentary reflection upon his own life and ideals, could recognise his very existence as odd, to say the least.

You tried to pull yourself away from him, managing to succeed, but not getting very far in the process, for your back had collided with a rough, brick wall.

“Do tell me,” he pressed on, his tone lightening once more, “do you believe that I come from a specific place? If so, where? Or better yet, what is it called?” he asked, sounding much too curious for his own good. Again, he was happy to consider all sorts of possibilities. His own life, ideas, and everything else, just as he pondered in an earlier thought, did indeed seem bizarre, and the world around him did feel unfinished. It was actually from the moment you showed up that he felt as if he could finally think for himself—if properly at all—which was a matter that should be investigated as soon as possible.

“J-Jujutsu Kaisen?” you hesitantly replied, feeling a little silly from having to say it out loud.

Kenjaku nodded, but not without producing a breath of a scoff, as if he found the name unimpressive. “I see,” he only said, then, before you could reply, he moved once more to conduct a simple, harmless experiment. His fingers curled ever so slightly, aiming to push you back against the wall you were already lined up against, with an unseen shove.

His head tilted again, although this time to the other side. His dark eyes sharpened in intensity, but his voice softened, making it sound almost intimate in nature.

“Does this feel fictional to you?” he asked.

Just out of instinct, and from a deep-set sceptical refusal rooted deep within you, you attempted to laugh off his question in an attempt to mask your unease. Though when you tried to move forward, although there was nothing visibly preventing you from pressing ahead, it was as if some unseen force was keeping you physically grounded. Like an invisible wall that you could feel, but not see.

This was definitely still a dream, right?

It had to be.

If you ‘woke up’ in a body that wasn’t your own, right in front of your favourite character, then there was nothing else to it, even if this all did feel strangely real. Dreams, however, were often paced differently, which must have been what was throwing you off. Any discomfort that surfaced was allowed to fester and would not move on as swiftly as dreams would often do so. Everything was slowly moving, as if it were happening in the present. Just like it would feel in reality. That was the weirdest part for you.

“I mean, yes, it’s still fictional,” you stubbornly insisted, brainstorming out loud. “Even if I’m only dreaming, the world you’re from is still make-believe, not that any of that matters considering I’m probably dying somewhere,” you added as an almost bitter afterthought. “This is all to make it easier on me, most likely…”

You took in a deep breath as he watched you, feeling more confident in his presence now that you thought you had an idea of what was going on.

“Like, yeah, of course, in my final moments, I probably would want to be stuck in a surreal nightmare or whatever this is with my favourite character,” you laughed. “It just makes sense, right? Why else would any of this be happening at all?”

Kenjaku went still as once again he caught onto a core detail.

“Oh?” he interjected. “I’m your favourite character?” he asked, sounding close to delighted. “This just keeps on getting better! And, just to confirm, you still believe this to be some sort of dream, correct?”

He leaned in at once, barely giving you room to breathe.

“Do tell,” he continued, his voice taking on a frantic, if not urgent tone, sounding very much excited. “Do you know how I die? I mean. I’m most likely the villain in this story of yours, aren’t I?” he asked proudly “The amount of spoilers you must carry is incredible, really. You can predict my very history before it’s ever begun,” he mused, already seeing the potential of your existence, if you were telling the truth that was. Even if you weren’t, and you were just someone who had gone mad, he would be a fool to discount such a golden opportunity.

Though just as his excitement had reached its peak, your vision began to blur before you could even respond at all. The whole world before you began to tilt, and your thoughts had long grown distant. You barely had any time to realise what was happening at all before your body gave out completely.

All Kenjaku, in contrast, did was just blink, almost reacting a moment too slow before he clocked that you were about to fall, moving to catch you before you did. A soft, pained grunt left him as he hoisted you up to his chest, following up with a small, annoyed frown. It was far too exposed for you to go and faint like this, let alone for you to show up at all. He shuddered briefly at the thought of the right people finding you first. That six-eyes brat from the Gojo clan had come to mind. He thanked his lucky stars that he was the one who found you first.

He clicked his tongue as he weighed out his options. Obviously, he couldn’t just leave you out here and wait for you to wake up, especially since he didn’t know when that would be at all. Besides that, it just looked odd. He needed to safely stash you away somewhere else for the time being and conduct an investigation of his own accord. After all, if you were telling the truth and if there truly was a world out there that had written his existence off as mere fiction, then you potentially sat over a trove of information that could change his fate entirely.

It was then that his eyes drifted towards the entrance of a nearby apartment building, and a new idea formed. With just a little force, he could get inside, take over a unit at random, and have you remain safely out of sight for the time being, at the cost of, well, someone’s life, he supposed, but sacrifices were sometimes necessary for great success.

He laughed softly to himself as he started towards such a place with you in tow, already vibrating with anticipation for what was yet to come.

He felt flattered, really.

A fan, then.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered to yourself; your words a messy, hurried mantra as you tried everything all at once. You pulled at the door handles; you tried to rotate yourself right around to force your heels against the windows, kicking them repeatedly, and though no alarm went off, nothing budged either.

Then, as you were in the midst of thrashing, a panel in the back gave out, its clanging against the van floor so loud it forced you to pause. You chanced retreated back there anyway, because what if? Slipping through the panel was easy work; it was just big enough to fit you. You pulled yourself through it, landing right on your hands and knees, coughing from the impact. Goodness. It was dusty back there.

When your vision adjusted to the darker stretch of the vehicle, you made the observation that the double-sided door was not locked properly, or at the very least, that it was damaged. A faint gap allowed a small amount of light to pass through. Towards the side of the vehicle, you spotted the glint of a gardening tool that appeared to be a rake tossed onto the flooring. You found yourself scrambling towards it with a surge of desperation, moving the teeth of the tool at an angle, then leaning against the handle with all of your might until you heard something creak.

You found yourself praying to yourself that you would get out of this somehow. For the most part, it seemed to be working, too. You felt great as it happened. What was this feeling? Adrenaline, maybe? You simply refused to accept the direction you were trapped in. You were not something to be stolen and then kept away from the world. You wanted to live and be free, and above all, be the one in control of it!

The metal began to crack open, but then just as it did, the wooden length of the handle began to split.

You ended up landing face-first onto the grimy surface, a broken, bitter, if not hysterical laugh escaping you as you did. The rest of you broke into tears, unable to grasp the absurdity of it all, and yet, understanding all the same that, of course, it was never going to be that easy.

Surely, though, this… this couldn’t have been it?

Just as quickly as the motivation appeared, it vanished within a split second, replacing itself with a horrible, profound sense of failure that rooted right into you.

God, to think that you risked Shoko to change nothing at all.

~~~

Choso left you in the van reluctantly, coming to stare at the brick wall that faced him as soon as he had stepped out. Things had gotten far too complicated, he could admit that, and yet, if he wanted to succeed, he knew that it wasn’t ever going to be as simple as he had planned it out in his head. People would eventually ask questions about your appearance, and oftentimes, they started with people like their neighbours. He knew that if it came around to that, he would fold right away.

Though another part of himself forced him to start walking towards the direction of the park anyway, his limbs feeling stiff as he did so. His jaw clenched tightly, and just once, he paused when he heard a struggle break out where he had left you behind. The front of the interior would hold, so that much was fine. As long as you gave up and stayed where you were. Honestly, the threat of putting you in the back was largely a bluff. It was the one spot where it risked going wrong. The van in itself was just good enough—but barely—for what it was, but that thing was falling apart.

He forced himself to march on faster, just to get back to you sooner. The area was a bit out of the way, and he knew that he would likely not get away with anything too rash out in the open. Every now and then, a sound from further away in the area would carry over to where he was, and he would jump, which already painted an anxious picture. Any hint of a struggle from where he was might be heard not too far away. Besides that, he dreaded to imagine what that friend of yours might clock him as. If she saw through him right away, and as he approached what must have been her, something even stranger happened.

He… froze. He tried to speak, but couldn’t, finding that his words died in his throat when he tried. Something about his plan to remove obstacles that prevented him from being together with you was something he struggled with deeper down. He even tried lifting both of his hands to imagine the possibility of strangling her on a whim, but the sensation that followed must have been a phantom one, since his limbs did not budge.

He forced himself to say something once more, though his voice still sounded quiet. If Shoko wasn’t on edge, she might not have heard him.

“Shoko, right?” he mumbled out.

Shoko turned around, narrowing her eyes at the sight of the nervous wreck before her. She leaned in—reluctantly—to catch what was barely heard. “Yeah,” she replied with a more level tone. “Is she okay?” she asked, cutting to the chase right away. “It’s not like her to disappear.”

Choso forced a laugh out in an attempt to lower the tension, hoping to convey that everything was fine. “Yeah, she’s okay. She just needed some time away from all of the stress,” he tried to say, his words far from convincing. His fingers pulled at his sleeves as he spoke, not quite understanding why he felt so nervous around her, and calmer around you. Perhaps it was because he hated this idea in particular. He did not want to hurt you, and getting rid of this person that you cared about would be doing that.

Shoko hummed thoughtfully. “Even so,” she caught, crossing her arms, resisting the urge to pull a cigarette out from her pocket to mask her own anxiety, “she wouldn’t just leave without letting me know. She wouldn’t send someone else to speak for her either. I know her.”

“I’m also close to her,” Choso lied. “We’re old friends,” he tried to add, not yet disclosing the true nature of their relationship, even though Shoko must have known. The text he sent was a futile attempt at best; she likely understood what she was getting into from the moment she received it. “She’s just a bit overwhelmed with everything, and she’ll be back soon.”

Shoko silently scoffed, the corners of her lips twitching. “Old friends?” she repeated in a disbelieving tone. “Oh, that’s funny. She told me she grew up quite alone, and she doesn’t seem like the type to lie.”

Shoko took a wary step back as she spoke, her posture becoming less open and far more guarded.

“And,” she continued, “close?” she repeated once more, trying to deduce everything he was giving her. “Do you know what her major is?” she asked, largely as a question of security. If he knew you, then he should know that little thing.

Choso gulped nervously, but his eyes darkened considerably. Irritation started to surface, causing him to feel erratic. He was one hundred percent certain that this person knew what he was up to, hence why she was so quick to interrogate him, and as such, felt something regretful rising from within him. He tried to hold back because again, he didn't want to hurt you, and that meant mentally just as much as it did physically.

He risked you hating him even more if he lost his temper, but that would be only if you ever found out.

“Sure do,” he confirmed, then before she could grill him further, he asked her just as quickly, “Do you?”

Shoko took a step back, and he took a step forward.

“I could take you to see her if you’d like,” he offered, his words landing steadier now, “prove to you that she’s just fine.”

Shoko, however, just stared at him, her eyes wandering around just once or twice to scan the park. It wasn’t crowded, but the distant sounds proved that at least some parts were at the very least occupied. She knew that following him would be a mistake, even if there were witnesses.

“Sure, if she meets me at our usual spot,” she replied very carefully. “She’ll know where.”

Choso forced a stiff smile. “Sounds good,” he said, his voice a little too calm. “I’ll go back then and let her know that you’re willing to meet her if she’s up for it at all.”

“Right,” Shoko agreed, watching him turn to leave and walk a considerable number of steps away from her before she started to do the same, but then she stopped when she could no longer hear his footsteps. A shudder ran through her spine as she started to turn around, but before she knew it, warm hands found their way around both her face to silence any screams and something more solid wrapped right around her throat, squeezing the life from her.

She thrashed as much as she could, but to get out of this alive, she needed a miracle.

~~~

Back in the van, after what seemed like forever of messing around with the faulty lock and the tiny gap between the doors, something finally gave out. You ended up stumbling out onto the concrete as it happened, landing roughly onto the concrete just outside, grazing your knees in the process. The area he had you in was desolate, but not fully.

You looked around, feeling the adrenaline return, feeling the sudden, horrible urge to bolt.

At least while you still could.

Kenjaku just wasn’t sure where exactly he fit into the panic, if he had to admit.

Honestly, he mostly just hated the lack of control he had over his surroundings.

Yes, perhaps he was locked in on the realisation that he was profoundly helpless. Nothing seemed to be grounding him. Briefly, he had considered whether this was how people felt when he messed with them, or even took their lives, but even then, he could not find it within him to feel regret or remorse. Maybe this was a different sort of feeling, then, and one that stemmed from losing something he valued and wanted to maintain, than what everyone else must have been feeling. Fear? Panic? No. He could move past this.

Yet, the realisation of this led him to momentarily spiral, in a familiar way almost, in how he did before. The possibility of you potentially being amongst the dead was not something he particularly enjoyed, and at first, his mind tried to dispel the very notion of care, because you being gone surely was a non-issue, and even then, your final disappearance didn’t sit with him in the way he could handle it. He didn’t like the idea that just as things were finally starting to be less hectic, that somehow, he had led you to a place where he couldn’t control the outcome and he had lost you as a result. The lack of closure was suffocating. Besides, if you were later to be identified as a missing person, then it would still lead back to him. He had to prevent that, at least.

Of course. It was just that. Nothing more.

Even he had a sense of self-preservation.

Kenjaku made a decisive effort to tear himself out of such a pitiful stupor, catching onto the nearest first responder that he could isolate. He had successfully dragged him away without even garnering the attention of a witness amidst the distraction and the panic, and to his luck, it was a paramedic. The poor guy shook with so much shivering anxiety that he barely noticed that it was almost all over. Kenjaku made swift work of his end, crushing his head against the bricking of some inner alleyway, either knocking him out or killing him entirely in the process.

When he pulled the uniform on, he might as well have looked the part, though, considering how much of a mess he felt.

In a way, though, he wondered if he should have conducted a cleaner approach, because he might as well have printed his DNA on a stranger for the authorities to later find, but then again, he was already losing it enough without the consideration of leaving behind evidence. He didn’t care too much about that anymore, and so, regardless, stumbled forth into a group of EMTs, the sudden addition of someone they did not recognise giving them pause.

Though Kenjaku was quick with it. He made up some half-assed excuse that he more or less had been rerouted as a rookie, which was why he hadn’t been introduced to the teams just yet, and there were likely more on their way. He claimed that there was an issue with communication in an attempt to disclose the issue, because the scale was already overwhelming the hospitals and not reaching some, allegedly. The fake panic in his voice might as well have been what sold him, because his voice sounded far too rough, and the genuineness in it was believable enough.

So, when Kenjaku found his hands on a stretcher, he was advised to help gather supplies for those working inside, and he adjusted so well that everyone’s guard was immediately dropped more or less within under a minute. This part of the fake job wasn’t a lie to him, because he was in an environment that he recognised very well. Besides, it did not hurt to blend in, and in doing so, he was able to gather on and off snippets over what must have been going on.

One person, in passing, on the phone, said, “Yeah, it came from the inside, maybe planted?”

“—the secondary collapse impacted—” voiced someone’s news report, playing from their phone.

Two others in particular, much closer by, and far more approachable, however, were discussing among themselves while working, “Probably gang related, that two-face gang has been on edge for a while. No wonder.”

That was as good an opening as any, he thought, so he garnered the confidence to ask, just for the sake of confirmation, as a fellow EMT, more of the details disclosed from the conversation. Everyone else was more or less talking about it, so it wouldn’t have been strange for him to want to know more.

“Really think it was them?” he butted in, attempting to sound casual as he helped them both pick apart the debris.

One of the paramedics took the bait, answering with a tired voice. “Yeah,” he yawned, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Who else but Sukuna and his guys? They’ve been threatening something like this for months at this point.”

Kenjaku found himself nodding along: a gang reigning siege over a city without enough resources or national attention/care to take care of its own problem made sense; besides, he had, at the very least, heard of the guy, even if only slightly. Though he did find that every snippet of information was oddly boring to him. He found that he didn’t care about all of the nuances as much as he cared about getting back to you, because everything else was just background noise. It was frustrating, he thought, because in order to get through this, he had to gather intel, but he did not care about the passing drama, for once. Gangs, aside from that, were predictable; he could likely piece out what sort of sloppy plan this was and just how easily it must have been carried out. He could likely guess that because of the scale, this gang was also done for, because the only way these groups ever stayed quiet was because they targeted each other and other factions internally, and only ever disbanded—either out of force, or leadership issues—due to taking things too far. Eventually, greater forces would have to intervene.

Another thought ended up entering his mind again, recognising that amidst his reluctant investigation, the police might, along the road, indeed, just as he had earlier speculated, look more into this attack and find patterns linking back to him, indeed. His face, picked up on the CCTV, was an example, and of course, maybe yours, too. The DNA he left behind on the person he likely had killed. Everything was becoming messy. He shouldn’t have taken you here. Fuck. He should have been more careful. Even if he did look different now, too, with stubble poking at his chin and his hair less than maintained, biological evidence was not something he could hide from. If that person risked waking up, too, he could likely recount what happened or describe the attack. All of this was down to just how perceptive people were willing to be. How… bothersome, he concluded.

Which didn’t even begin to cover the most pressing issue of all:

That he hadn’t seen you come out of the building yet.

Therefore, all he could truly do was keep on listening as a result, because panic in that of itself was useless, because it prevented an intake of information. He needed to absorb as much as possible in order to move the slightest bit forward. Though even if he hadn’t seen you yet, it didn't mean that you weren’t out. You might have been among the many who emerged with coverings over their whole bodies, because the damage was enough to have been fatal. You might have been grouped up somewhere and, by some miracle, have been recovering while he spiralled. You might have been rolled right past him while he couldn’t see anything but a lapse of plummeting control, and therefore, likely, could have been safe. He wanted to believe that you were in the final stage of that assessment. He didn’t like any other possibility, not even the one where you were alive and kicking, speaking to others, because that somehow conflicted with his guilty little desire of keeping you isolated to his side only. Ideally, you were a bit out of it. Ideally, you might cling to him, just enough to calm him down, to affirm to him that the control was still his to keep.

Kenjaku tried once more to keep himself steady, his voice coming out as both clipped and as precise as he could realistically manage as he attempted to weasel himself towards the hospital that the bulk of the help was going towards. He made up some excuse that the central line of communication urged him to return, and somehow, amidst the panic, nobody even questioned his motives or asked for proof. He supposed that he was lucky in that regard because of the collective panic, especially when each spoken response he could offer sounded relatively official and educated. Perhaps it was the case that in times of uncertainty, most people were content to accept authority and direction, because anything else felt unstable.

That’s how he eventually found himself riding off to the hospital, too, because there was more help needed on the inside than the outside, as it turned out, though he wouldn’t do a single thing, because his intentions were still selective. Thankfully, it was the one where all the initial victims went, so he would likely find you in it? God. He hoped. He would pretend in passing to move through where he was instructed to go, but he wouldn’t linger, and sure, he might grab what was needed along the way, giving them to the right person, but he would disappear into the sidelines just as quickly. The lobby, otherwise, even to him, was swamped with far more than the interior could handle, and he had seen a lot when he did have such a job. Far too many gurneys were hauled through the corridors for anyone to stop and think about him, the still undetected anomaly, as he worked to serve his singular agenda, which hopefully led him to you, among the fodder of everyone else.

And then soon, by some miracle, his efforts were rewarded.

It sure did take a while, though.

He found you after searching like a madman for what felt like hours, even though, realistically, it must have been far less. When time felt vital, everything felt either too slow or too fast, so Kenjaku must have been trapped within a sensation of both mediums. It felt nauseating to pace himself as soon as he recognised you.

That aside, he observed you to be sitting upright, though lying half-down on a suspended bed, which was a good sign already because you likely did wake up during the flow of things. You were likely also in a recovery pose, and therefore would be checked up on soon, which spiked urgency into Kenjaku, because he did not want others to check in on you if he could. This little hiccup down the road would be his burden to carry, if anything. He observed that you had oxygen tubing fitted under your nose and face, though parts of you were marred with the location you had been extracted from, so your body was still enveloped in debris, making the damage look worse than it was. A memory flashed into his mind, and he did not miss the way in which he saw you levitate earlier on, recognising that the fall must have been significant enough to hurt. He also spotted several other things, like the rasp of your breathing and the slight, small cuts around your jaw, but even the clipboard itself wrote nothing more than a few scribbles of inhaled smoke, being the bulk of the damage, so the relief he felt was very much immediate.

Indeed, you were sitting up. You were breathing. It didn’t seem like anything was broken.

You… were… fine.

He found himself stepping closer, his body guiding itself to you as if pulled by some unknown force, causing him to stumble just a little. His eyes moved around your body. He could, he thought, likely treat you privately. He knew how. The hospital was far too packed to focus on the people who had a better chance of recovery anyway, so it was a good opportunity, he gathered, to just pull you away and take you somewhere else. Besides, this part of the wing was empty enough. Hardly anyone was around by the time he made it here, and now, it seemed even more sparse.

Kenjaku, as a result, could not waste this opportunity—

—Already moving to fulfil his plan.

This meant unhooking you from the wires—carefully—so that doing so would not alert any such nurses by the front desk, though they must have been distracted by other matters. Still, he did not wish to risk any further unwanted attention. He wanted to go in, extract you, then get out as quickly as possible.

And, as he worked, he found himself even going as far as to fuss over you. His voice was low and annoyed, murmuring all sorts of lightly scolding, but almost nurturing things. “You’re fine,” he said once, before repeating it a few times a few moments later, preparing to lift you from bed. “You’re fine. Fuck. I’ll make sure you’re fine, so don’t you dare complain.”

He guided you upright, keeping you steady the whole time before slipping his hands right beneath you while hoisting you up. When he could finally step away and carry you off into the hallway, even though he was not familiar with this hospital in particular, figuring it out was pretty straightforward. Hospitals, in general, no matter where they were, were built in a certain type of way that meant directing people outward as much as they were designed to keep them in. A contradictory design, yes, but it was no different to an airport. It relied on a certain type of flow, of service corridors, but also emergency exits. He used guesstimation, mostly, to eventually find the outside, meeting with the now cool evening air, which finally caused a stir from you.

Not that you were waking up at all, but you did twitch. A good sign.

Kenjaku, however, continued to move quickly, not bothering to stop for too long. Like usual, his escape route had to be spontaneous. It would be too obvious and too attention-grabbing if he took an actively running vehicle, or even dared look at an ambulance, so he went to the longer stay lot, which was indeed, just like that of an airport. All sorts of cars were parked there, but he didn’t care for the modern type, walking quickly, trying to avoid the fleeting gazes of potential passers by, until he finally found a beat-up old model of a car that he could hotwire with some effort.

When—or rather, luckily, by some miracle—the car ignited into motion, he broke past the boom gate, gulping thickly as he did so, hissing at the damage, even if it did not stall the vehicle down at all. Maybe it dented the thing at most. He only really cared about being quick to get away. He didn’t care too much about whether he was being watched, trailed, or suspected anymore at all as much as he cared about reuniting himself with the only person he had ever met that made anything ever feel bearable at all. In that right, you were a source of comfort, and with you gone for that brief moment, he had nothing but himself, which he disliked.

Then, you stirred partway through the drive, waking up properly that time.

“What…” you started, sounding profoundly confused, your voice all rough from the smoke and the fatigue.

Kenjaku swerved over to the side, pulling over at once, hissing slightly as the wheels screeched from the sudden motion. Gravel crunched under the tyres, and right before he cast you a look, he only sighed, briefly pressing his forehead against the steering wheel before pulling back.

“You’re awake?” he asked. “No, of course you are. You’re fine. I told you that you would be fine.”

You tried again. “Wha—”

He replied instantly, sounding a bit skittish, as if he were afraid that you would hurt yourself from speaking. “Don’t talk just yet. What did I just tell you? You’re fine. So stop.”

You quietened down at his erratic mood, though you didn’t really feel the need to question him like you typically would. Whatever he said or didn’t say right now hardly mattered. You were still catching up on what must have happened before. Briefly, you remembered a noise and then heat and pressure catching up to you before it all went dark, then bright lights and the sound of machinery beeping, of all sorts of people prodding at you, but barely being awake to process it. You disliked how comforting waking up to Kenjaku next was, considering how much he had hurt you before.

Kenjaku, too, was going through something similar, oddly enough. His thoughts were eating him alive as he forced the silence.

Then, as if it were to break the quiet, he drifted slightly towards you, his proximity feeling a little invasive. He moved so eagerly that briefly, he was pulled back by the seatbelt, finding he needed to unbuckle himself to get even near you, but then paused when you flinched as soon as he tried to reel you in.

It was odd, he thought, because he was trying to be affectionate. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. He just wanted closeness. That was as kind as he could have been, and surely, you could recognise that.

He wouldn’t do that for just anyone, but he genuinely had missed you.

“Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of me?” he scoffed, trying to mask the hurt. “Seriously?” though, as asked that last word, vulnerability was very much evident in his tone. His composure wasn’t the greatest right now.

“I’m not,” you were quick to insist. “I don’t even know why I flinched.”

Kenjaku breathed out of his nose, retaining that disbelieving smile. “I guess… you’re probably still out of it? Is that it?” he asked, trying to think about how you wanted him to react, even if, deeper down, he wished that you would just accept the way he acted for who he always was. Like he did with you.

You shrugged in response, trying to calm down a little. “Yeah, something like that,” you said, feeling as your heart slowed after the initial reaction. “The sudden closeness just threw me off, that's all. I genuinely can’t tell you why I reacted like that, though.”

He sighed heavily, wanting to so desperately believe you, and yet.

“You’re sure it’s not because of that thing from way before?” he risked asking.

You blinked at him, biting your lip in thought, but still acting purposefully oblivious. “What thing?”

He blinked back at you, quickly growing annoyed. “You know. That thing. At that fucking house,” he replied. “I pushed your boundaries, didn’t I? If you’re still bothered by it, then I won’t blame you.”

You found yourself folding your arms, your body language retreating in on itself. “I mean, yeah, but it doesn’t really matter right now, does it?” you muttered. “What’s done is done, and it hasn’t really been an issue when we were out doing stuff, has it?” you asked, trying to sound convincing, swallowing a thick gulp of air down. “Besides, we agreed to move past it, didn’t we? At least quietly.”

“Yeah, and that’s the thing,” he added, his hands tightening on the wheel briefly before relaxing, “you don’t sound too happy about it,” he pointed out. “Look,” he continued, trying to change the subject and yet, at the same time, keep it relevant. God. He had so much he wanted to say. “I don’t know how much time we both have left, and I’d really not end this hating each other.”

You scoffed quietly at him. “Why’re you getting so sentimental anyway? Let's just move on.”

A laugh tore out of him. God. You were so infuriating, he thought. Why? Why? Maybe because he thought that for a good moment that you were dead, and he hated that idea. Maybe because he thought you were seriously hurt. Maybe because he had almost lost you and then just barely found you, and that alone was because of sheer luck. Maybe because you made his sorry life fun and he couldn’t remember the last time he was miserable, let alone bored, because your weird little mind full of unhinged thoughts was what was keeping him from losing himself for good?

He clicked his tongue. “Fuck, I don’t even know at this point. You’re the most frustrating person I have ever met, genuinely,” he said, almost in a resigned tone. He was so done with you. “I’m just… very certain that we’re in deep shit. That’s all. I’m so sure of it. I… left behind a whole trail of evidence. I think we might be going down? But that’s okay. I think I can happily rot in prison, but not if it ends like this.”

“What are you even talking about?” you asked. “Did you hit your head?”

He scoffed, reaching out to nudge you on your shoulder, finding some relief when you didn’t flinch that time. “Well, before, I was searching for an answer to what the hell was even the point of my existence, or anyone else’s,” he tried to explain. “I thought if I pushed people beyond their limit, then I’d find something out.”

“Or did I hit my head?” you asked yourself, blinking at the roof of the car.

“It’s hard to explain, I know,” he continued, pressing ahead. “People are all too desperate right before death to offer anything coherent, so maybe that’s where I went wrong. Whatever answer they might have had was likely just to get me to stop and let them live, but obviously I couldn’t do that,” he half-laughed. “But… with you, I think I have experienced something different. I have experienced a distraction—have experienced fun, and maybe that’s all life is. Maybe I’ve been chasing the meaning for so damn long that I have probably found it long ago, but have lost myself to it.”

“Kenny,” you said, softer that time, in an attempt to ground him.

He turned to you. “I’m not making sense, am I?” he asked. “I think I just mean that I have found my meaning and I’m finally ready to settle with it. I just want to… make the most out of what’s left.”

“Before you go to jail for life?” you asked. “Bummer. I’ll visit you in jail, though,” you added, trying to tease him to lower the tension.

“Oh, no, no. I’m going to make sure we both go down,” he vowed, suddenly looking both serious and mischievous at once. “I’m going to sink us in such deep shit that we’d both be severely guilty. We’ll be so unforgettable.”

You blinked at him, watching him get ahead of himself for a moment, before stopping, his voice coming out as more of an afterthought.

“I want to be your worst memory,” he said, “and for you to be mine.”

Indeed, this time, he was done trying to outrun consequences, and more importantly, he would keep what he had left.